


Memory Loss

by The_Nacho_Stand



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Hurt Tony Stark, Hydra (Marvel), Hydra Tony Stark, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Memory Loss, No one is surprised, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sickfic, Stuttering, Tony Angst, Tony Stark Angst, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric, Tony Whump, Torture, Whump, guess thats up to you, lokis a dick at the start but come on thats to be expected, stuttering tony stark, unless you are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2020-10-17 20:57:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20627429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Nacho_Stand/pseuds/The_Nacho_Stand
Summary: Hydra captures Tony after his fight with Steve, torture, etc. etc. Avengers break in and take him back, try to fix him.





	1. Chapter 1

Everything is cold. All Tony knows is freezing, icy cold, except for the brief flashes of white-hot pain searing into his flesh. He drifts in and out of consciousness, still not quite sure why he’s here, or where he is, or if he’s even alive. During the times when he’s awake, he finds himself replaying memories in his head, unable to focus on his surroundings.

_ Tony raises his left palm, ready to fire at Steve. The Winter Soldier grabs his leg, pulling him away. Steve grabs him and lifts him over his head, then throws him down, and tears his face-plate off with his shield before harshly striking down on Tony’s chest. His suit powers down, shattered material littering the concrete floor. The dull ache over his body informs him of the multiple injuries he’s obtained from the battle. The shield remains upright, stuck in the center of his suit. When Steve struggles up again he takes hold of the shield, gripping the edge and pulling it free. He steps away from Tony. Bucky lies bloodied but conscious, and Steve reaches out and pulls him to his feet, holding him up as Tony looks on. _

_ “That shield doesn't belong to you,” Tony says, in a desperate attempt to get Steve to lose _ something _ , to maybe feel a drop of remorse, to _ acknowledge _ him and his sorrow. “You don't deserve it. My father made that shield!” Steve stops, raises his chin, then drops the shield and walks away with Bucky's arm around his shoulder. _

_ Instantly Tony knows he’s lost. His suit is disabled, his teammate has left him, and he’s drowning in shame and guilt. The shield is a feeble reminder of his failure. _

The flashback is on loop in his mind, replaying over and over like a broken mp3. He wishes his life were an mp3 player, complete with a rewind button to change the past, a pause button to deal with his anxieties, and a fast forward button to skip over bad times. It would be perfectly simplistic. Maybe even a mute button to silence the voices in his head. Or a delete button to erase his entire existence- all the evil he’s created, all the _ pain _and-

“Tony Stark,” The Hydra agent in front of him drawls out in a slight German accent, looking thoughtfully at the files clutched in his hand. “You’re lucky we found you, otherwise you would have died in Siberia.”

Tony manages to focus in on the agent in front of him. So he was at Hydra. That was new. He smiles bitterly. “Wouldn’t want that, now would we?” 

The agent regards him coldly. “You are an asset. No, we would not want our tool, the next step to global domination, to perish. You are now the property of Hydra.”

Tony’s barely listening. All he caught was global domination- I mean seriously, aren’t they taking things a bit dramatically?- and something about dying. Then again, everything seemed to be about dying these days. 

Tony mumbles, “So then am I supposed to like, get tortured? Or something? God, this is so shitty.” That was one way to describe his whole situation. This sucked. In fact, a vibranium shield slamming into his arc reactor sucked too. Everything was shitty, and life had just plunged him down the shittiest shit-hole ever known to man. 

The guy doesn’t answer. Typical. A bag’s shoved over his head, plunging him into darkness again. Do they really expect he’d fight back at this point? He’s pushed to a room, but he’s counting steps… twenty-seven, twenty-eight, thirty… forty-two, forty- wait, wasn’t he on fifties already? And a left turn, or maybe he missed the thirti- Tony’s pushed into a chair. Not a very comfortable one, either. Metal. Reinforced with iron, or perhaps even a coat of titanium, which is costly. They must have a big budget.

The bag is taken off his head, momentarily blinding Tony with the bright lighting of the room. He squeezes his eyes shut, dizzy and disoriented. He hates this feeling. It’s like the flashes of cameras pointed at him from every direction, capturing his every move, every word. Every slip up, every mistake. One wrong move, and everything could fall. Everything. He despises interviews and reporters, dreads them and makes himself near sick in anticipation when they’re scheduled.

The handcuffs that he hadn’t realized were there are taken off, leaving Tony to stare at his cut and bloodied wrists. He hadn’t noticed. He’s strapped in with heavy bindings- he’s not even a super soldier, how would he get out?- and a cloth is placed in his mouth, which Tony bites down on. He supposes he’s lucky that they’re being this nice. He knows what’s coming up. He’s done his fair share of research on the Winter Soldier to be oblivious. 

He still isn’t prepared when it starts.

Inside Tony’s mind someone’s screaming. Raw and blood-curdling. Physically, Tony’s strapped down in a metal chair biting down on the cloth in his mouth, sweat sheening over his face, body twisting in agony as his brain gets _ fucking electrocuted _. 

* * *

  
  


Another cloth is draped over Tony’s face. The anticipation of the water about to suffocate him makes it one hundred times worse.

Cold water is poured continuously on the cloth, choking him and making him feel as if he were drowning. The stream of water seems to last forever, his vision blackening as his lungs tightened and sputtered like a broken engine.

There wasn't any relief when the cloth was removed, only a sense of dread as Tony prepared for the next torture, coughing wetly and shivering.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited some awkward text

The world is hazy. He knows he has something more- or had- than this empty white room. Like a slate wiped blank. 

He sits on a metal chair in the center, oddly still. Why is he following their orders? What was it that they did to- right. The chair. The other chair, he means. 

Who is he? He feels like he has a name… A personality. Something… more than “asset” or “tool”. It feels like he woke up from a long sleep and forgot his dream. And no matter what he does, he just can’t seem to remember. The memories are just out of his grasp.

He stares at his hands, strapped, as always, to the arms of the chair. He knew he was some kind of engineering genius- that’s what they used him for. And that arc reactor in the center of his chest… he hadn’t had any privacy, so he couldn’t check it out without his handlers being suspicious, but he knew- he _ knew _ that he was someone special. Someone- useful. Maybe.

The ‘asset’ barely blinks when an alarm blares, signaling some kind of break-in. This was new. It’s been… he didn’t know how long, he realized hollowly. A day? A week? A month? He paused. Years? His concept of time wasn’t very good, but he didn’t want to know if he’d been here for years.

Some agents rushed in and unstrapped him. They grabbed his arms roughly and pushed him into the hall, shoving him into a cell. He’d been there many times before when he’d rebelled or refused something. Except they’d have whips, or the huge buckets of water, or the chair. He didn’t do those things anymore. He’d learned, over time.

There was something familiar about this. The chaos of people moving around, waving artillery, shouting orders. There was something… something he couldn’t remember. And there were voices. A man’s voice, determined and… patriotic. Was patriotism something you could hear from a voice? The asset’s brows furrowed.

More screaming followed, and then the door burst open. That was fine, the asset was used to that. What he didn’t recognize was the man who entered. Tall, wearing a red, white, and blue costume. 

Panic. He was panicking. His handlers had warned him to stay away from whoever this was- and he needed to follow their orders or- or else. He hated the whip. He hated the chair. He hated the water even more. He didn’t know why.

“Tony! Tony, we came back for you.” The man says, looking a bit guilty but the asset didn’t know what for. 

That name. He didn’t- he wasn’t- he _couldn’t_ be that name. He was just the _ asset. _ Simple. Nothing else, just a tool. He stilled and didn’t speak. That’s what he was taught to do. _ Be silent. Don’t move, don’t ask, don’t, don’t, don’t. Just write this down, design this, solve this. Don’t _ think. _ Just do. _

The man in front of him hesitated before grabbing his arm and lifting him up onto his feet. The asset stumbled but managed to stay semi-balanced, a shaky hand on the wall. The man frowned at the cuts around the asset’s wrists from sharp handcuffs and rough handling. And the finger-shaped purple-blue bruises flowering up all over his thin pale arms. The asset was fitted in a long-sleeved Hydra suit, but the sleeves were ripped and tattered, displaying skin.

The asset’s throat was dry and his voice was small but he spoke up anyway. Even if he might be punished, maybe it was worth it. “I-I don’t. Can’t. Go with you.” Immediately he shrank back, removing his hand from the surprisingly gentle grip of the soldier. He had _stuttered. _Stuttering wasn’t… good.

The man looks at the asset, bewildered. “Tony, what are you saying?”

The asset stilled again, quiet before speaking once more. “... I don’t know who that is. I’m not… Tony.” His nails raked down his arms, reopening some cuts and smearing his sleeves with red. That was okay. Blood didn't show very well against black. His hands were trembling. He hid them under his arms, curling in on himself and sitting back down. Maybe the handlers would go easier on him if he didn’t go willingly. “I don’t know who you are,” He said, desperately. “I don’t know where I am- I don’t know _ who _ I am, I don’t- don’t know _ anything _ \- I don’t fucking know _ anything.” _He’s rambling. He can’t feel himself thinking or saying anything, but he knows there are words coming out of his mouth. He’s going to be punished for this. He knows. He just can’t stop.

The soldier’s eyes lit up with fiery recognition, jaw clenched, hands curled into fists. Curled, uncurled, curled. The asset flinched heavily and the hands uncurled again. 

The man sighed. “Nat, lets… get him out here.” 

The woman he hadn’t realized was there gave a curt nod. She looked him in the eye and spoke quietly. The asset felt bad for… he didn’t know what. He just did. Then again, that was a common feeling. “Asset,” she said, and the asset relaxed. That was all he was. The asset. “You’re going to have to follow us, okay?”

The asset’s hands started shaking again, so he hid them under his arms for a second time, also protecting his bruised, possibly- actually most likely _ fractured _ rib cage. “I… can’t.” He whispered, letting out shaky breaths. He wanted to apologize, but he knew that that would make them more angry. So he didn’t. He focused on a spot on the cold cement floor, looking at a dried splatter of red. That was his blood, from an earlier punishment. He didn’t remember what he did to get them so angry, but he wished he hadn’t done it. He hated pain. He was sick of it.

The woman tracked his gaze, her eyes also landing on the red. He didn't know why she would look at that specific spot, there were many more splotches of red. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but her expression didn’t change. She paused before whispering gently, “Hail Hydra.”

The man looked shocked for a moment, but he quickly coughed out a “Hail Hydra” too. The asset wasn’t stupid. They weren’t Hydra. But maybe there’d be no punishment if he said that he thought they were Hydra members? Maybe- maybe he could… no. He shook his head, clearing it from any hopeful thoughts. Hydra would always find him. Always. But… this was new. This was a _chance_.

The asset stood up shakily, stumbling toward the broken door. “I- I will follow.” he cursed himself for stuttering.

Nat, the woman, smiled at the asset, making him widen his eyes in surprise. The soldier lead the way, maybe to the asset’s temporary… freedom. The word made tears of relief spring into his eyes. He didn’t care that it was temporary. He would be away from the chair, and the whip, and the _ water _. Unless… he paused mid-step from where he was following the two, stopping in the hall full of collapsed Hydra agents.

The woman whirled around with her handgun raised, immediately sensing the lack of footsteps. She put the gun down slowly. “What’s wrong?”

The asset clenched his hands to stop them from shaking. “You…” he said hesitantly. “Don’t have a… chair? Or the water? Or whips?”

The woman’s mouth pressed into a thin line again. “No. There will be no pain.”

The asset shifted uneasily. “You said Hail Hydra. That means pain.” He stated, looking at her in disbelief. No pain was too good to be true. Less pain would make more sense, but even then...

“We lied. I’m sorry. Will you keep following us?” The asset hesitated again. He already knew that they had lied, and they promised no pain- although he knew that was probably another lie, but maybe _ less _pain- so he had nothing to lose. Besides maybe the water or the whip or the chair when Hydra found him again. He shivered.

“Yes.” He followed them as best he could, eyes drooping in exhaustion but body trying to catch up to their brisk pace- and though his ribs felt like they were on fire, it was okay- he was used to pain. This pain was small compared to the whip.

He didn’t know when he collapsed.

* * *

  
  


The asset woke up to frustrated murmuring from… familiar voices. He recognized the patriotic soldier and the woman, Nat. The other voices were familiar, but distant, like foreign memories. He tried to sit up, struggling but eventually being able to prop himself up against a pillow. His eyes widened with realization. “I'm in a bed.” The group of people around the bed looked at him with varying expressions, ranging from understanding to angry (which he understood the most) to sadness, which he didn’t understand. 

“I’m allowed to be in a bed,” he stated. That surprised him. Beds were for people, not assets. 

“That’s not your bed,” a man said, with short brown hair and sharp eyes that seemed to see far away. He was sitting on top of some drawers, higher than the rest of the group. 

The asset paused and glanced at the others before proceeding to rip out the tubes and get out of the bed that was not his. 

“No, that’s not what he meant!” said a smaller person, maybe in his teens. He looked unbearably sad. “Mr. Stark, you’re staying in your medical building thingy right now. It’s-”

“I’m not him. I don’t know who he is.” Interrupted the asset, even though he knew he wasn't supposed to. But he figured since he hasn't been punished by now, he had more time.

“O-okay.” The asset wished he hadn’t said anything, because the teen looked even sadder now.

After a bit of more one sided conversations and half hearted words, the group left for him to supposedly heal. Well, besides one. He had longish brown hair and chocolate eyes and a metal arm. “I know how you feel,” he said. And he truly looked like the only one who did, besides maybe Nat.

The asset believed he did. “Were you an asset too?”

The other asset looked surprised. “Not anymore. Sometimes, but not right now. I’m Bucky.”

The asset nodded. “… Bucky.” The name sounded familiar. “Hydra… let you go?”

Bucky cringed. “Not- not exactly. But they won’t find us here.”

The asset shook his head. “Hydra always finds a way.”

“That’s what I thought when I first left, too,” he said with dark amusement.

He paused. The woman had seemed truthful earlier, but it wouldn’t hurt to get one more guarantee. “There are no... punishments here? Well, less, right? No chair, no whip, no water?”

Bucky nodded, looking pained. “Wait, water?” He furrowed his eyebrows. “Did they use waterboarding?”

The asset jerked his head into a stiff nod, clenching the thin hospital bed sheet in his hands to make them stop shaking. They shook a lot. It wasn’t a liked habit. “They said… they read my file. From somewhere called S.H.I.E.L.D. Said it would be more effective than normal. Procedures. I guess- guess they were right. I liked the chair or the whip better.” 

Bucky cringed again. “It’ll get better over time. You’ll start to… remember.” He paused. “It won’t be quick, my memories came back pretty quickly but that was because of my sped up healing. Weird shit. Since you’re normal, you’ll probably take longer.” Or not remember at all, was heard in the silence. That was okay. The asset was used to not remembering.

Bucky sighed and looked pained again. “I’m sorry for… if you remember at some point… I’m sorry.” He got up and left, leaving the asset to consider this new thought. Who was he really?


	3. Chapter 3

“I am FRIDAY. You are Tony Stark, a billionaire, genius, inventor, and the creator of Stark Industries, as well as a major influence in multiple worldwide organizations, including covert groups, such as SHIELD, a government agency which created the Avengers Initiative, a project which would bring together a team of so-called ‘superheroes’ to defend the Earth in case of major threats.”

Holographic images and texts revolved around the group scattered throughout the room, mainly circling the asset.

The asset shut his eyes, processing the information. Or trying to. He opened his eyes again when he felt everyone staring.

“That’s us,” said Steve, the man who had rescued the asset, or Tony Stark for that matter, from HYDRA. “The Avengers.”

“I’m not an Avenger,” the asset mumbled, keeping his eyes positioned to the floor from where he was perched stiffly on the expensive leather couch.

Steve furrowed his eyebrows and turned towards the asset from his seat. “Yes, you are.”

The asset let out a harsh breath and clenched his jaw. “How can I be someone I don’t know? I don’t know who this fucking _ Tony Stark _ is, I’m not him.” He glared at the holographic image of Tony’s face- his face- but it wasn’t him. Not really.

“But do you agree with him?” Asked Natasha, from an armchair opposite the asset.

“Agree about what?” he asked pointlessly.

“You tell me.”

“I think he’s violent. He’s killed hundreds of innocents with his weapons. He brews evil.” The asset stared at the news headlines, ranging from ‘_ The Hero Behind our Lives _ ’ to ‘ _ A List of Tony Stark’s Victims: More than 700 Recorded and Counting _’. He tried not to think of the hypocrisy in his words.

“Like it or not, that’s you,” said Clint, perched next to the asset, but on top of the couch rather than on the seats. “But you’ve saved more people than you’ve killed.”

“That doesn’t make it any better.” the asset said hollowly. “I thought I was a sort of hero but I find out I’m a murderer. I- I thought maybe I was a good person, and that would make up for the bad, but I’m not, I’m just a killer, in both lives.

“Tony,” Steve began.

The asset clenched his jaw again at the name and itched to scratch at the scars on his wrists again, but they had made him stop doing that and he didn’t want to be punished, so he didn’t. They had said there were no physical punishments, but you could never tell.

“Don’t call me that!” He snapped. His eyes widened at what he had done and snapped his mouth shut.

Steve looked taken aback. He coughed. “I’m, uh… I’m sorry. Asset.” The asset stared at Steve, shocked by the apology.

Natasha interrupted. “Do you know what you were doing at the HYDRA base?”

A chill ran through the asset. All those years spent- a grand total of three, he found out- in Hydra’s base giving them weapons and plans- he had helped a terrorist organization kill millions of people, given the time.

“I-I,” the asset shut his eyes tightly and wrapped his arms around himself, bruised ribs flaring with pain. “I don’t know- I don’t- fuck, I-I can’t-” He let out shaky breaths in rapid succession, trying to calm down but not being able to- like he was trapped, trapped in his own fucking body and it was horrible and constricting like back at the HYDRA base when he would be strapped into the chair at hours at a time, sometimes days, and it would last and last and last-

“But you do know,” called Clint, voice cold. “You just don’t want to admit-”

“Shut up.” hissed Natasha, voice dangerous.

“Fuck,” he didn’t know if he was speaking out loud or not at this point. His breath came out in shaky jumbles of words strewn together. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I killed so many people, I’m worse than the other me, fuck-”

“Tony! Tony, calm down!” Exclaimed Steve, trying to figure out how to _ fix _ him. He heard the other man’s name, the one he wasn’t familiar with- he wasn’t Tony Stark, why did everyone keep calling him that? He wasn’t, wasn’t, wasn’t- The asset tried to take deeper breaths but his lungs were so heavy, like they were filled with water, like he was back _ there, _like they were suffocating him-

“Asset!” Came Natasha’s sharp voice, slicing through the chaos of his mind, making the asset still immediately with the exception of his hands. His hands stayed clutching the material of his long-sleeved shirt, trembling with anxiety. “Calm. You aren’t at HYDRA anymore.”

“They’ll find me,” whispered the asset, hands still shaking. “But that’s not what this is about. I helped them potentially massacre millions of innocents. Maybe billions- I don’t- can’t remember. I should be… I should be dead, they should’ve killed me, I deserve to-”

“Tony, please don’t,” said Steve, looking pained. The asset stared at the floor past everyone, lost in his mind.

“Die,” finished the asset. “I deserve to die, I don’t deserve this fancy treatment bullshit, I shouldn’t- shouldn’t be _ alive _-”

“You know your memories were wiped. You know they did this to you.” Natasha stated.

“But I did it,” said the asset, feeling unbearably hollow again. 

“That’s what I said when Steve tried to help me,” Said Bucky, arms crossed and leaning against the wall. “You just gotta learn to accept it.”

“Accept that I secured the fate of millions of deaths?”

Bucky sighed. “The point is, is that you already did it. It’s done. There’s nothing else you can do.”

“Actually,” Steve intervened. “There is a bit more we can do.”

The asset looked up at Steve miserably. “And what would that be?”

“We steal the files before HYDRA can use them.”

“And what if they already built the weapons?” Questioned Natasha.

“Then we steal those too.” Steve glanced around. “Avengers, assemble.”


	4. Chapter 4

Being inside the suit of armor didn’t feel natural, but it did feel strangely familiar, as if from a dream. He had opted to fly the suit to the destination rather than take a jet, because he supposed he needed the extra familiarity. The asset could operate it with fantastic ease, though. Perks of being a genius, he supposed. The artificial intelligence gave him a floaty feeling of comfort.

There had been multiple arguments from the team as to whether he should go or not, but the asset felt that it was his responsibility. Responsibility. That was new.

There were a few differences between him and Bucky (he had called him Sergeant Barnes, but Bucky had refused to be called anything other than “Bucky”). While the Winter Soldier was part of Bucky, he was triggered into action using a series of words, unlike Tony Stark. If he existed anymore. 

He did not have trigger words. Instead, it was a created persona enforced with physical and psychological tactics that engraved it into the asset’s (back then, Tony’s) mind, aided with the use of the chair, which deteriorated memories. The problem was, the asset wasn’t sure how to revert back to Tony Stark. And even if he one day found out how to replicate or even become Tony Stark, did he wish to do so? Would that get rid of him, the asset part of Tony- which, he would argue- is currently the only mind inside his body at the moment?

It was a blessing and a curse. Tony Stark had been completely wiped away, all that was left was the asset. But by recovering memories, he could slowly regain or create a replica of Tony Stark’s character. And no one would be able to differentiate.

The asset suddenly stopped mid-flight. His mind had drifted and his focus had been lost. If his handlers were here- no. They weren’t here. He shut his eyes for precious seconds before he opened them again, letting out a puff of air and remembering the AI that was embedded in his suit. 

“J-Jarvis?”

“Do you wish to know the jet’s location?”

The asset nodded, then was about to berate himself for nodding when no one could see him, but was cut off from his train of thought.

“The jet has most likely activated stealth mode, sir. The panels should be reflecting our surroundings. Should I search for it’s exact point?”

The asset shook his head. Of course, Steve had even mentioned it before they departed. It was things like these that the asset would constantly be punished for. He could paint a perfect picture and overlook one miniscule detail and be punished- for hours, and hours, and- not that he didn’t deserve it. Of course he did. A mass-murdering violent-

Red lights were flashing and an alarm was blaring noisily. The asset’s eyes widened as the warnings appeared over his vision, throat tight with anxiety. 

“Sir! The jet appears to have disappeared. I highly suggest evacuating the area, there are high levels of energy that appears to be dispersed around a half mile radius.” The AI’s voice sounded slightly panicked. Very fitting, he decided, through the chaos.

“I-I don’t-” he began, but never finished. A spark of green light caught his eye and rapidly grew in the middle of the sky, enveloping him and disappearing. The asset lost consciousness.

* * *

The asset slowly came to, vision blurry but trying desperately to focus. His arms were bound in a familiar position- around a metal chair- the asset jerked, eyes widening. HYDRA. He had known- always known- they would take him back again. It was inevitable, and now he was going to be trapped again, in the thick haze of pain, somewhere in the cluttered spaces of his mind wishing that someone would just end it all.

“You don’t look very pretty compared to the last time I saw you,” said a man, one the asset didn’t recognize, who was casually lounging on a chair like the asset’s. His dark hair flowed a little ways past his shoulders, his enticing green eyes were lit with a dangerous glint, and his formal suit was splattered with blood, but looked unruffled.

The asset stilled, realizing there was nothing in his mouth to shut him up. This man was clearly not from HYDRA, and yet… They were in the HYDRA base. Could it be an intruder? Were they on the same side? Which side was he on, himself?

The man sighed. “You were such an annoying mouthy character back then, have you changed, pray tell? By now you would be spouting some random assortment of useless information.”

When the asset didn’t reply, the man got up and walked closer to the asset, so their faces were only a mere inches away. The green eyes searched his expression, but the asset kept his panic concealed and directed his gaze to the floor. The man glared down at him, sparks of emerald flowing from his fingertips. The asset’s eyes slightly widened, and the man smirked, pleased at achieving a reaction. The asset’s heart hammered.

The man backed away a step. “Now, you must be wondering, Stark, what exact plan I have this time.”

The asset flinched at the name. The man perked up in curiosity.

“Careful, Stark,” the asset flinched again, despite trying desperately not to. “You were never one to show vulnerability. It was one of your rare redeeming qualities, and you’re getting close to losing it.”

The asset swallowed, wishing he had water, but not wanting to ask for it, because what if he reminded his captor of some form of torture that he had put off? Instead, he chose to play the character of Tony Stark. He had watched enough videos to replicate his persona.

“I had more than one redeeming quality? Well, now you’re just flattering me.” He batted his eyelashes and finally met the stranger’s eyes.

The man looked at him in suspicion, seemed to contemplate for a few seconds, then: “Say my name.”

The asset’s eyes widened. He didn’t know his name. It had never come up in the many media he had accessed. He clamped his mouth shut, not trusting himself to speak.

The man’s jaw clenched, green sparking dangerously. “I have ways of making people talk, Stark. Would you rather have me infiltrate your mind? Destroy it, from the inside out?” 

“I-I-I,” he swallowed. Shut his eyes. Wished he could rake his nails down his wrists again so he could stop them from shaking. “I don’t. Know your name.” When there was silence, he timidly reopened his eyes, once again refusing to make eye contact and instead opted for the floor.

“You aren’t Tony Stark.” The asset’s head jerked up to look at his captor. “You have different energy levels. From the mind, but the body is the same.” Swiftly, the man closed a hand around the asset’s throat, making his eyes water. “Who are you? Another sorcerer, sent by the _ high _ and  _ mighty  _ Odin?” The sarcasm and disdain in his voice was sharp.

The asset gasped in pain, and the nails dug into his neck harder. “Tell me,” he hissed, raising his other hand, palm full with green wisps. “Or I will find out no matter the damage I will leave.”

“Not- not- sorcerer- please-” the asset begged, shivering, absolutely terrified of not being able to breathe again.

“Wrong answer. Tell me who you were sent by, where the real Tony Stark is, and the plan you’re involved in.” The sharp nails drew blood, trickling down his neck. Black lined the asset’s vision.

_ Can’t breathe,  _ the asset thought.  _ Gonna go unconscious. Can’t breathe. Can’t- _

The hand removed some of it’s force and the asset gave a greedy gasp, filling his lungs with air and trying not to think of the pressure there was on his lungs, like the times when he was held underwater, wondering if and when he could die, wondering if he could ever be the same when he finished with each torture. The asset’s hands were shaking violently by now, and for once he was glad they were strapped together at the back of the chair. He was allowed to breathe in several shaky, stuttering breaths before the hand retightened. His mind went fuzzy again, the black returning.

“H-H-Hydra,” his voice came out as a broken whisper. “T-trained. Not- not real. ‘M not…” The asset went limp.


End file.
